by Shana Galen
Now she looked at him, and Pelham saw tears sparkling on her lashes. They glittered in the sunlight. “Juliette—”
“Damn you, Will. Damn you.”
He gaped. “What have I done?”
“You made me fall in love with you, and I know you can never, ever love me back.”
He knew his mouth hung open. He knew he should say something. But words failed him. Juliette didn’t seem to expect them anyway. She kicked her horse and rode ahead without him.
Pelham let her go. There was nothing he could say to comfort her, because she was right.
He could never love her.
Seventeen
Juliette lay in bed, listening to the rain against her window. Shortly after they’d returned, the rain had begun again and not let up. It rained all afternoon, and she was forced to wander the house alone, gazing at the pretty gardens that were too wet to explore.
She finally found a book and decided to read, but she never found Pelham. The housekeeper told her he had decided to dine in his room, something Juliette deduced from Mrs. Waite’s shocked expression he did rarely, if ever.
And so Juliette had eaten in the dining room alone. She’d eaten many, many meals alone and knew she would probably eat many, many more in that fashion.
But she was disappointed. She had not thought Pelham so much of a coward. Yes, it was probably not every day a woman told him she loved him—especially not one so completely wrong for him as she was.
But then was she wrong for him?
Juliette didn’t think so. He had fun with her, something he sorely needed. Something completely lacking in his life before her, as far as she could tell. He was finally changing his routine, and perhaps one day he might even change this house so his father was not everywhere one looked.
But she would not be here to see it. She did not know why she even thought of Pelham’s future. It didn’t involve her, and Lady Sinclair would have told her she was a fool to hold onto dreams that would never come true.
Reality, Juliette, is all you can cling to. It’s a hard pillow to lay your head on, but it will still be there in the morning.
She fluffed the soft pillow under her head and shifted until she was again comfortable. She was sleeping in Pelham’s house in one of his—she didn’t know how many—large, inviting beds. He could find her if he wanted her. Obviously, he didn’t want her.
And she hated that she still wanted him. If she went to him now, what was the harm? She was already in love with him. She might as well enjoy him for the short time they had together. She supposed if she had more pride, she might turn over and try to sleep. But where had pride ever gotten her?
She rose and found a dressing gown. She put it on then hastily took it off, removed her nightrail, and donned the gown again. The fewer clothes, the better. When she reached her door, she considered that Pelham might have decided it was best if he no longer bedded her. But she had yet to meet a man who held on to his scruples for long when a naked woman slipped into his bed.
Not that she had ever done so. But she had lived among courtesans for the last few years, and she’d learned something from all their chatter.
She opened the door and stepped into the dark corridor. She knew where Pelham’s rooms were. She’d seen the maids cleaning them when she’d passed by earlier in the day. She’d caught a glimpse of the large tester bed and the plush rug, and had known immediately it was the duke’s room. It was too grand, too ornate for any mere guest.
It was close to hers, a few doors away, and she tiptoed down the corridor, watching her shadow in the flickering flames of the candle she held. When she reached the door, she raised her hand to knock then thought better of it. She tried the handle, found the door unlocked, and moved silently inside.
The royal-blue curtains on the bed were drawn, but she could hear Pelham’s soft, regular breathing. Just like a man to sleep while a woman agonized over their relationship. She took a moment to study the room. The tester bed was by far the largest piece of furniture. It looked as though it had been built for a king. There was also a sitting area by the window with two armchairs upholstered in blue. A small desk completed the room’s furnishings. She spotted an interior door and supposed it led to the dressing room and the empty duchess’s chambers beyond.
Juliette blew out her candle and quietly set it on a table near the door. A low fire burned in the huge hearth across from the bed, and her eyes were already adjusting to the darkness. With a fortifying breath, she slipped her robe off and felt the cold air brush her naked body. Oh, but it felt deliciously scandalous to pad, naked, across the soft rug, push open the bed’s heavy draperies, and crawl in.
Pelham didn’t even stir. She took a long look at him, his dark hair framing his stern face. Even in sleep, he had a serious expression. One hand was on the pillow beside his cheek, and the other rested on the bedclothes at his chest.
His bare chest.
She bent and kissed that chest. He was warm and smelled like sleepy male. She tugged the bedclothes down to reveal his taut stomach and the indentation of his waist. He stirred slightly, and she smiled as she ran light fingertips down to circle his navel then followed with her tongue.
That elicited a low moan from him, but a peek at his face told her his eyes were still closed and he continued to sleep. His body was waking, though. She could see the hard bulge at the edge of the covers, and she inched them down, revealing him. Her hand wrapped around him, sliding up and down his hardness. Now he moaned in earnest, and she heard a muffled, “Wha—?”
Before he could wake fully, she leaned down and took him in her mouth, sliding as much of him as she could between her lips and sucking lightly.
“Oh, good God!” he groaned. “Juliette?”
With a teasing lick, she released him. “You were expecting someone else?”
“I wasn’t expecting anyone. What are you doing here?”
She sat up, revealing her nudity. “What does it look like? Seducing you.”
“How did you—?”
She took him in her mouth again, and his words turned into a groan. His hands fisted in her hair as she moved up and down, loving him with her mouth. Finally, his hips bucked, and he pulled her shoulders back. “Wait.”
“For?”
“I’m not even awake.”
She glanced down. “You look awake to me. Is there something else you’d like me to do?” She straddled him. “This, perhaps?” She slid him inside her, and his hands clenched on her hips. She rode him slowly, torturing him as he made every effort to quicken her pace. But she could feel her own pleasure rising now, and she wouldn’t be swayed. Finally, her hips began to race of their own volition, and just as she was about to climax, he flipped her onto her back.
“Will!” she sputtered.
He grinned down at her, that unruly hair of his brushing his forehead. “Tit for tat, I always say. And speaking of which…” He leaned down and tasted her nipple, taking one then the other into his mouth. She arched beneath him, pushing his hand between her legs. But he moved it back to her breast without giving her satisfaction. He teased her, pinched her, and she fisted her hands in his hair. “Will, please.”
He traced a wet path down her belly with his tongue. She rose for him, but the man maddened her by tickling her thigh. And then his hands spread her legs wide, and she felt his tongue on the inside of her thigh. “Yes,” she breathed.
He lapped at her, lightly—far too lightly. “Is this what you want?”
“More,” she moaned. “More.”
He licked her, rolled his tongue over that sensitive nub.
“Yes. Yes!” She was already convulsing, bucking as he played her, sucked her, devoured her. She came hard and fast, exploding into a thousand white-hot shards. She’d never felt pleasure like that before, couldn’t begin to catch her brea
th. And then just when she thought she might survive, he plunged into her, and she bucked with pleasure again.
She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him deep as he thrust hard and fast. “You feel so good,” she moaned.
“I feel good,” he panted. “You’re hot and wet. I—”
She clenched around him, and he made a guttural noise and swelled within her. He collapsed on top of her, his body shuddering.
They lay like that, two lovers entwined, for what seemed hours. Finally, he rolled off her. “I didn’t mean to flatten you.” It was probably the closest to an apology the duke in him could manage.
“I’m fine,” she said. “I like feeling your weight on top of me.” She reached over and traced his chest.
He grabbed her hand. “Woman! Give me five minutes.”
“Only five? Now that’s impressive.”
He quirked his mouth in a half smile, and she couldn’t resist kissing that mouth. Couldn’t resist kissing his cheeks and his eyes. He was so beautiful, so perfectly male. If only he could have been born someone else, and she could have—
But she’d sworn she’d not have regrets. Her life was her choice these past few years. She’d had precious few choices, but she’d made those she did with full knowledge of the consequences. Now she would have to live with them.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked.
She smiled. “All the wanton things I want to do to you. With you. On top of you. Under you…”
“I like that train of thought.”
“I thought you might.”
He touched her hair, rubbed it between two fingers. “It’s like moonlight. Silken moonlight.”
She raised a brow. “I didn’t realize you were a poet.”
“I’m not.” He touched her face. “I missed you tonight.”
“And I you. I had to eat in that enormous dining room all alone, waited on hand and foot. It was awful.”
“It sounds perfectly monstrous.”
She swallowed. “You didn’t have to avoid me.”
“I thought it best.” His face changed into an expression she liked to think of as The Duke. Suddenly, he was solemn and paternal. She wanted to kiss The Duke away and lie in the arms of the man.
“Because I’m in love with you?”
He shifted, tried to sit. “Juliette—”
She pushed him back down. “Do you think avoiding me will make me fall out of love? I’m no ingénue, Will. I don’t fall in love easily. In fact, I’d say with the exception of John Miller when I was thirteen, this is the only time. If all of your efforts thus far haven’t swayed my emotions, I don’t think hiding from me will.”
“I wasn’t hiding. I’m a—”
“Man. Men at times prefer to avoid women’s emotions. But I’m not going to pelt you with tears or sentimentality. I know you don’t love me.”
“Juliette, I…”
She raised her brows, waited. “You’re very fond of me?”
“Yes, but I feel more than that.” He put a hand over his eyes, scrubbed at his brow. “I don’t know what to say. I’m no good at this.”
She took his hand. “You needn’t say anything. John Miller didn’t.”
He furrowed his brow. Oh, how she loved the little lines that formed when he furrowed his brow. “Did you tell this John Miller you loved him, too?”
“Of course.”
He laughed. She’d heard him laugh so rarely, she laughed as well. “You’re no coward, I’ll give you that. And what did John Miller say in return?”
“Why, nothing. He grabbed me by the shoulders and kissed me. It was my first kiss.”
“A romantic story.”
“Hardly. His breath smelled like onions, and I vowed never to kiss a boy again. Needless to say, I fell right out of love with poor John Miller.”
“I’m sure he died of a broken heart.”
“No, he married Sally Johnson, and they had six children at last count. Apparently, she likes the smell of onion breath.”
He shook his head. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”
“That’s because you spend too much time with ladies. I guarantee you Fallon, Lily, and I are more fun than any real countess or marchioness.”
“I don’t doubt it. You three have an interesting friendship.”
“Why?” She knew why, but she wanted him to say it.
He shifted uncomfortably. “Well, considering how you know one another.”
“You mean how we met? What story have you heard?”
“No story. I…”
“You mean you haven’t heard that the Earl of Sin invited me to his bed, and when I arrived, I found Lily and Fallon already servicing him?”
He opened his mouth then closed it again. Apparently, that was not the story he’d heard. He looked rather shocked.
“Or perhaps you heard that we have adjoining suites at Somerset House, and he alternates his nightly visits between us?”
“Juliette.”
“So that is the one you’d heard. And do you believe that?”
“It’s not true?”
She sighed, feeling disappointed. “I’m a courtesan, Will. The truth is whatever you want it to be.” She sat and scooted away from him. “I find I’m rather more tired than I thought. If you don’t mind, I’ll find my own bed.”
He caught her arm before she could hop off the bed. “But I do mind.”
She looked down at his hand on her arm. “One aspect of marriage I never could tolerate was being owned. You don’t own me, Will. I’ll sleep where I wish.”
“I don’t want to own you.” He softened his grip but didn’t release her. “You’re not the Duchess of Dalliance to me. You’re Juliette. I care about you.”
Her gaze jerked from his fingers to his face. She saw softness there, a sincerity of emotion. He hadn’t apologized for anything he’d said—now or before. He hadn’t told her being a courtesan didn’t matter. Most important, he hadn’t said he loved her.
But could this perhaps be the first step?
Oh, she could all but hear Lady Sinclair grinding her teeth in frustration.
Juliette knew she was a fool. But what could she do? She loved him.
She turned back to him, and Will took her in his arms. The feel of him, of his skin, warm and naked against hers, made her shiver. She wanted to stay in his arms forever, curl up there, close her eyes, and know she belonged. She wanted to be safe and loved and to know she would always be safe and loved.
She wanted Will to love her.
He kissed her, cradling her head in his hand, whispering she was beautiful.
Tonight he was offering her his gentleness, his care. It would have to be enough.
***
Will was gone when she woke. It didn’t surprise her. Any man who voluntarily breakfasted at eight, even in London, was obviously a man who enjoyed mornings. She lolled about in his bed for the better part of the morning, drank chocolate, and nibbled on several delicious pastries, and then decided the day was too fine to spend indoors. The weather had vastly improved overnight, and the day dawned bright and sunny. It was still crisp and cold, but with her spencer over her warmest dress and a muff for her hands, she was quite comfortable in Will’s well-tended gardens.
There were two. One was manicured and shaped to perfection. It had been laid out precisely to conform to the standards of what an English garden should be. She spent all of a quarter hour there, admiring the flowers and forsythia shrubs and staying on the graveled walk. There was much to admire—pink and red Lenten roses; Solomon’s Seal with its white flowers swaying from arching branches; pansies in blue, purple, orange, and more. She saw violas, dog’s tooth violets, and the crocus and daffodils were coming in, too. And she adored the hyacinths, especi
ally in blue. No tulips yet, but she knew another fortnight would bring those.
Finally, she wandered to the wild garden behind the house. It too had been planted and maintained, but it was not sculpted; instead, it retained much of the natural landscape. A small brook ran through it, shadowed by scrubby trees, and Juliette found the whole atmosphere quite peaceful. Of course her boots and hem were a muddy mess, but after yesterday’s rain, that couldn’t be helped.
She found the remains of an old Roman wall and sat on top, kicking her feet to and fro and staring up at the cloudless sky. Nearby, the brook babbled and birds chirped. She closed her eyes—and fell backward.
Juliette started, but the hand clamped about her mouth muffled her scream. And then she hit the ground and the air was knocked out of her lungs. She gasped and tried to focus, but the man holding her hauled her up and moved behind her, out of her sight.
“I could kill you right now,” he hissed, his voice low and disguised and yet familiar. Lucifer? “I’ve been watching and waiting for this chance, and you, like a fool, gave it to me. Where’s your lover, little whore? Where is he now that you need him?”
She shook her head, tried to free her mouth, but he held fast. To her horror, she realized he had her arms pinned behind her back.
“So now the question becomes, how should I kill you?” The rasp of his voice made his words difficult to decipher, but she understood kill well enough. “Should I murder you now or rape you first?” His hand clenched painfully on her breast. “Hmm. I think rape first.”
“No!” she managed, though the sound was hampered. She writhed and squirmed, and he was forced to use both hands to subdue her.
“Help!” she screamed. “Help me! Will!”
He hit her hard on the back of the head, sending her sprawling forward. Her vision dimmed briefly, but she refused to lose consciousness. She could feel his hand on the back of her leg, feel his weight on top of her. He was pulling up her skirts to take her from behind. He had one arm pressed into her neck, holding her head down, and even though she tasted dirt, she screamed again.